


The Price of Peace

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To save her people, Clarke agrees to marry one of Anya's warriors.</p><p>She never thought she could be happy with him, but Earth is full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Earth is full of surprises

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is also posted as "Earth is full of surprises" in Earth Monitoring Station, but then I decided it needed to be its own series.

Clarke rolled over and stretched her arm out, only to find the furs on Bellamy’s side of the pallet were cold.  She frowned and propped herself up to survey his--their--cabin, but he wasn’t feeding the fire and he wasn’t sitting hunched over the makeshift desk like he did most mornings.  In the two months they had been married she had never woken up in the cabin alone.

It was odd, how easily they slipped into a routine despite being total strangers.  For the first week they came dangerously close to being enemies, especially once she discovered he could speak English and only pretended not to because he was amused by her butchered attempts at Trigedasleng.  But after she grudgingly stitched up his side when he returned from a hunting trip gone awry and he repaid the favor by starting to give her language lessons, they’d settled into something like a partnership.

Only lately, that partnership was leaving her wanting.  The moments when he would smile at her and something sparked in her chest were happening more often, and at night his warmth under the furs caused a different sort of heat to bloom in her belly.  They had started inching closer and closer together each night, using the chill in the air as an excuse, but last night Clarke could have sworn she saw something in his eyes that mirrored her own desire.

She had been hoping to test her theory when they both awoke but with Bellamy gone, that was pointless.  Clarke had to meet with their healer this afternoon but she had a rare morning off, something she hadn’t had since the Ark.  Three months ago she never would have thought she would be living on the ground, married to a near-stranger to create peace between their people, but three months ago she had also never seen a pair of deep brown eyes that were somehow hard and soft all at once.

Clarke stretched like a cat and curled back under the furs, burying her nose in the ones that still carried his scent.  Bellamy smelled like sunlight and pine needles and it only fanned the flames inside of her, so with one last glance at their door Clarke slipped off her deer-hide leggings and ran her fingers through her damp curls, wishing it was his callused fingers instead.  She spread her legs farther apart, the soft fur tickling the backs of her thighs, and sank her teeth into her lower lip.  Clarke tried to conjure the weight of him over her, the feel of his chest pressed against hers.  She eased a finger inside, but it wasn’t enough and the angle was wrong.  She kicked the furs off and rearranged herself with her knees pointed toward the ceiling, teasing her slit again and pressing two fingers inside, curling them against her walls.  Clarke arched her back and moaned, his name slipping from her lips just as the door opened and Bellamy walked in.

They both froze, Clarke in panic and Bellamy with a look of shock on his face.  He slammed the door shut and spun around while she scrambled to cover herself.

After a few moments of deafening silence, Bellamy cleared his throat.  “I will--I will give you some privacy,” he mumbled.  When Clarke didn’t respond he put his hand on the door, spurring her to action.

“Wait,” she called, and he paused again.  He turned slowly and his eyes tracked up her body as if it wasn’t hidden under the covers.

“You do not wish me to leave?” he asked in the oddly formal English of his people.

“I don’t.”

Bellamy turned slowly again and crossed the cabin, his eyes never leaving hers.  He sat down next to her and without ever breaking eye contact took her hand--the hand she had been wishing was his, the hand still covered in her own arousal--and lifted her fingers to his mouth.  He licked them clean and Clarke found it almost impossible to breathe, trapped by his gaze and entranced by the way his tongue laved across her skin.  His eyes fluttered closed and she cupped his cheek with her hand, brushing her thumb across the freckles she’d wanted to sketch for weeks.

Bellamy bent down and she leaned up and their lips met, far more gently than she had thought possible, and when he pressed her back down into the furs she wondered if earth would ever stop surprising her.


	2. Yours (and mine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for more.

Nyko sent Clarke home early when the large flakes started to fall.  The grounders still didn’t let her out alone when it was snowing heavily, not because she was their prisoner but because they were worried she would get turned around in the blinding whiteness and freeze to death.  She half suspected Bellamy may have requested that rule for her, but so far he played innocent when she asked. She shook the crust of snow from her hair as she entered their cabin, but Bellamy still hadn’t returned.  She threw a few more logs on the fire and wrapped herself in a fur, a small part of her brain marveling at how normal this all seemed when just five months before she hadn’t even dreamed she would be on the ground, much less know what snow felt like.

The fire was crackling merrily and had nearly driven all of the chill from the air when Bellamy opened the door, bringing a gust of howling wind and blowing snow with him.  Clarke set aside the book Bellamy had scavenged for her as a wedding gift and sat up expectantly.  “How are they?”

Bellamy shut the door behind him and brushed a pile of snow from his shoulders.  “Your friend Raven nearly killed me,” he grumbled.  “We should never have given them lessons.”

Clarke smiled and slipped out from under the furs.  “She got the drop on you?”

Bellamy looked at her quizzically and Clarke made a mental note of yet another idiom that did not survive the apocalypse.  “She surprised you?” she rephrased.  She unclasped his cloak and draped it carefully near the fire to dry.

“She did.  Had her knife at my throat before I even heard her.  She says hello,” he grumbled.  The peace treaty Clarke and Wells negotiated provided the delinquents with supplies and training, but Anya had insisted that Clarke have no contact with her people for a full year.  This was supposedly to encourage Clarke to embrace her new family with the Trikru, but Clarke suspected it was also intended to keep her from plotting a new round of hostilities.  It was the bitterest pill she had to swallow, even more than bargaining her body away to a complete stranger.  Bellamy was the one who observed that Anya had only forbidden  _Clarke_  to contact the dropship, and for the past three months he made weekly trips to check on them and deliver her messages.  

Bellamy fumbled with the ties to his shoulder armor, his hands red and stiff from the cold, so Clarke took over for him.  “Is anyone sick?”

“A few have the winter fever, but nothing to be worried about.  And the angry one wanted me to give you this.”  Bellamy pulled a fistful of colored pencils out from seemingly nowhere and Clarke grinned.

“Wells isn’t angry,” she scolded, laughing internally at Bellamy— a man with a permanent scowl— calling kind, sweet-natured Wells ‘angry.’  “He’s just worried about me.”  Wells had negotiated the meeting with Anya and when she told them she would require a marriage pact to seal the peace, Wells had volunteered without hesitation.

That was why she chose Clarke.  It was a test to see how serious the delinquents were about peace, so when Wells offered himself and Clarke gasped aloud, Anya’s dark eyes darted to her instead.

“He wishes you were his, does he not?” Bellamy asked, his dark eyes concerned and perhaps a little jealous.

“He’s my friend.  He cares,” Clarke assured him.  She returned to Bellamy’s clothing, peeling off his shirt while he watched, bemused.  Clarke looked up at Bellamy, her eyes hooded.  “And he knows I’m yours.”  His skin seemed to glow in the firelight, all golden and warm.  She braced her hands on his chest, his heart pounding against her palm.

Bellamy’s pupils blew wide and a dangerous grin spread across his face.  “You are,” he said lowly.  “ _Ain_.”

A shiver went down her spine as it always did when Bellamy spoke Trigedasleng.  Clarke trailed her fingers to the laces on his breeches and loosened them.  “ _Yun_ ,” she whispered.  Her hand eased inside, his dark curls scratching against her palm as she grasped his cock with her hand.  “ _En ain_.”  _Yours.  And mine._   They were some of the first words in his language she learned, having had to repeat them as part of a wedding ceremony she didn’t understand while she hid her trembling hands by balling them into fists.   _I am yours and you are mine._   

But those words carried a different tone for her now, thanks to the way Bellamy liked to claim her and be claimed by her in return.  He grew hard in her hand as she started stroking him, pulling her head back when he bent to kiss her, making him chase her with his lips until she gave in.  His lips sealed over hers and she moved her hands to his waist, pushing down on his deerskin breeches until they pooled on the floor.

Clarke dropped to her knees in front of him, her hand still pumping his cock. He looked as though he was devouring her with his eyes and fisted his hands at his sides.  She traced the bulging vein on the underside with her tongue and then licked the tip before wetting her lips and slowly encircled him with her mouth.  

She drew him in deliberately, her eyes locked on his, until his tip nudged the back of her throat and she had to fight the instinct to gag.  Bellamy’s eyes closed then and he started cursing in Trigedasleng, his hand tangling in her hair.  She once more wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and started bobbing her head, the power she felt curling low in her belly.  

Clarke rubbed her thighs together to hold her own need at bay as she kept up the rhythm, her other hand rolling his heavy balls in her palm, and when his fingers tightened in her hair she started sucking until his legs shook and his cock pulsed down her throat.

Bellamy’s hand released her hair and slid to cup the back of her skull as he tugged her up, kissing her softly.  “ _Yun_ ,” he repeated, sounding almost drunk.  “ _Ai laik yun._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trigdasleng translations I got from skaigedasleng.tumblr.com, but any mistakes are my own. Ai laik yun means “I am yours.” I think.


	3. The Cold Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel, of sorts.

A brush of lips to her shoulder brought Clarke out of her slumber.  Bellamy nosed her hair aside and kissed his way up the side of her neck, the softness of his lips so at odds with his harsh, unyielding nature.  She stayed on her side, afraid that if she moved he might stop and already her heart was pounding, already she wanted more.  His fingers skimmed across her skin, light and gentle, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.  He kept going, down her arm and side and along the curve of her thigh, every second making the curls between her legs more and more damp.

His teeth tugged on her earlobe and she forgot to be quiet.  Her soft moan carried above the crackle of the fire and his hand came to cup her bare breast, his fingers swirling across her pebbled nipple.  She barely had a chance to wonder where her clothes had gone before his lips returned to the juncture of her shoulder and neck and her mind went white.  His hand kept moving, never pausing in one spot, never increasing the pressure above a feather-light caress.  Clarke arched against him, feeling his need for her press against her lower back, and then suddenly she was on her back and he was above her.  Bellamy slid inside of her so easily it was as if he was already a part of her and she pulled his face down so she could kiss him as he moved.  

Without warning she was coming, her orgasm tearing through her with an intensity she couldn’t comprehend, and then he was coming with her, her name falling from his lips like a prayer.

And then Clarke opened her eyes to find herself in the deerskin leggings and soft cotton shirt she had worn to bed, Bellamy sleeping peacefully— and fully clothed— to her side.  Since the day they married he had slept on the floor, but last night as the chill of fall invaded their cabin she had insisted he join her in the bed.  She had fallen asleep in their warm cocoon far more swiftly than any night she had spent on earth so far, but this was not the first time he had invaded her dreams, claiming her body so thoroughly she forgot they had never shared more than a dry, chaste kiss on their wedding day. Her heart raced as she watched him sleep, utterly unaware of the way the mere thought of him set her blood boiling.  Awake he was brisque but polite, struggling with a marriage he did not choose, but in her dreams he was passion, fire, and all-consuming.

Clarke wondered which was the real him.


	4. An Early Morning Hike

“Where are we going?” Clarke asked as she tripped along behind Bellamy, her hand clasped in his.

 

“It’s a surprise,” he said softly, holding a branch back for her to duck under.

 

A soft spring breeze rustled the leaves and Clarke let him pull her up next to him and throw a careless arm across her shoulders.  Bellamy had woken her up early that morning and insisted she get dressed, ignoring her attempts to coax him back under the covers.

 

He slowed to a stop and Clarke took a sharp intake of breath, because in front of her lay the entire valley, glowing golden in the morning light.  If she squinted she could just make out their cabin, nestled at the edge of the village near the start of the forest.  Bellamy slipped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder.  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, nibbling on the shell of her ear.

 

“Did you drag me out of bed this morning just to seduce me up here instead?”

 

“No,” he said, moving his lips to her jaw and down the side of her neck.

 

“No?”

 

She felt him grin against her skin.  “Perhaps.”  He spun her around and pressed her against a tree.  “Now be quiet, wife,” he mock-scolded.  He sank to his knees before her and eased down her leggings, nosing at the thin skin near her knees.  Clarke groaned impatiently and he nipped at her thigh.  “Shh,” he said again.  “The valley echoes.”

 

Her stance was awkward with her leggings trapping her feet together and her back arched against the rough bark of the tree, but the moment he placed a soft kiss to her mound she stopped caring and gave herself over to the sensation.  Cool air caressed her folds as his fingers parted her, replaced a second later by the heat of his mouth.  His tongue caught on her clit and she had to fit down on her first to stifle her cries, but when his tongue pressed against her entrance she lost control and her sharp keen startled a flock of birds. They took flight into the air above the valley and he spread her wider, licking deep inside of her, pushing her toward the brink and then easing off, placing delicate kisses to the hollow of her hips and then coming back, drawing her clit into his mouth until the only thing holding her up was his hands, cupped around her hips as her legs quaked and threatened to give out.  She reached her peak quickly, as Bellamy had learned exactly what she needed in their six months of marriage and used to to his (and her) advantage whenever possible.

 

He rose and kissed her softly, her arousal tangy on his tongue, and smiled against her lips.  “ _Yun_ ,” he whispered.  “ _Ain_ ,” Clarke agreed, because she had never felt as though she belonged so thoroughly as she did now.


	5. Under the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested "things you said under the stars and in the grass."

Bellamy’s footsteps were nearly silent, but after a year Clarke had learned to pick them out from the soft noises of the forest.  “Over here,” she called, raising her hand so he could see her behind the bushes.

The butterflies exploded in a flurry of movement when he pressed through the thicket to her clearing.  “Should have known I would find you here,” he said.  He laid down next to her and looked up at the sky.  “Do you miss it?” he asked quietly.

“The Ark?”  Clarke twisted her neck so she could see him, his dark brown eyes illuminated by the brilliant blue butterflies.  “Not really.  It was so cold.  Grey.  No colors; not like this.”  Clarke folded her hands on her stomach.  “Not much hope up there either.”

Bellamy rested his hand on top of hers.  “How was seeing your mother today?”

“Good.”  Clarke curled into him and rested her head on his shoulder.  “She agreed with me.  Three months, give or take a few weeks.”

Bellamy pressed a kiss to her hair.  “Winter babies are lucky,” he whispered.

“Think so?  Mom was worried; she thinks that the cold might worsen complications,” Clarke said, watching her stomach as Bellamy rubbed it gently.  There wasn’t anything to see there— not yet— but there would be.  Soon.

“Octavia was born in the winter.  One of the worst winters we had ever seen.  It only made her strong.  You’ll see,” he soothed, his lips still on the crown of her head.

Clarke let herself believe him and watched the butterflies, so much closer than the stars beyond.


End file.
